want something to drink?” Mary shut the door. “There’s some Merlot that’s pretty decent.”
“No, thank you. There’s going to be enough of that at the party.”
Mary led him into a small living room. Really small. Dash hadn’t been in an apartment like this in years. He’d forgotten people actually lived like this. Typical in Manhattan, it would be considered a shoe closet in most other cities. There was room for a love seat, a chair, a lamp and a coffee table of sorts. When he looked closer, he saw it was a tree stump with a glass top.
“Have a seat.” Mary plopped down on the chair, so Dash took the love seat. He sank into it until his knees were above his waist. Getting up wasn’t going to be easy. He prayed Tess was almost ready.
“So, what’s it like being you?”
He looked sharply at the Scooby-Doo woman. “I don’t know. I haven’t given it much thought.”
“Are you happy?”
Who was this strange girl? She looked to be in her mid-twenties, and from what he could see she didn’t have a speck of makeup on her squeaky clean face. “For the most part.”
“Hmm,” she said, sounding too much like a therapist for his taste.
“What?”
“I’ve only seen you smiling. In magazines, and stuff. So I guess I’ve just thought of you as happy all the time.”
“No one’s happy all the time.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Mary, stop bugging the nice man.”
Tess’s voice came from the doorway behind him, and using his hand on the frame for leverage, Dash stood, relieved as hell. He wanted out of here, to be on his own turf. He turned, then stopped dead still. Tess was a vision of luscious womanhood in a red dress that made his throat dry. Her hair looked wild, like she’d just gotten well and lustily laid, and her eyes were luminous with mischief and something else he couldn’t peg. But where he got stuck was her lips.
Red, like the dress, full, like her breasts. He wanted to pull her to him, feel that body from shoulder to knee, and kiss her senseless.
“Please excuse my friend,” Tess said, walking toward him with a sinful sway of hips. “We normally don’t let her speak to strangers unless she’s taken her Prozac.”
He smiled as he caught Mary’s surreptitious one-finger salute. But his attention was on Tess. Only Tess. “You look stunning.”
She lowered her lashes as her cheeks pinked. “Thank you.” Shyly, she looked at him again, her gaze moving down his tuxedo, then back up. “So do you.”
He laughed. “Stunning? I don’t think so.”
Her head tilted to the side. “You are.”
He waved away the compliment, and took hold of her hand. This time, when he kissed the delicate skin on the back, he lingered, inhaling deeply her sweet honey scent. “The coach awaits,” he said, reluctant to let go of her.
“I just need my bag.”
Her hand was lost to him, but in recompense, he got to watch as she walked to the tiny kitchen to collect her purse. The curves were just as impressive from this side.
He tried to remember why he’d decided to keep his hands off Tess. Patrick’s face came to mind. For about two seconds. He took one more look at Tess’s backside and banished his brother for the night.
“Okay, I’m all set,” she said.
He crossed the room in three strides and captured her hand once more. “It’s going to be a great party,” he said as he led her toward the front door. “And I’m going to be the luckiest man there.”
Tess faced him with a frown. “Maybe you should take Mary. You two have a lot in common.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’d understand if you knew her.”
He nodded at the woman still curled up in the chair. “While I’d be delighted to get to know you better, tonight is for Tess.”
“Be good,” Mary said. “And if you can’t be good, be safe. Remember, no glove, no love.”
“Mary?” Tess said sweetly.
“Yes?”
“Remind me to kill you when I get home, okay?”
“I’ll leave you a note.” She waved all five fingers this time. “Have fun, kids.”
Dash got the door, and once he and Tess were in the hallway, his gaze went right to a burned-out bulb. “This isn’t safe,” he said. “You need those lights fixed. You don’t even have a doorman.”
“I know,” she said. “But I’ve come to the conclusion that the super here is a hologram.”
“Then you should contact the landlord.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Promise?”
She nodded. “It’s okay. Honest. Thanks for your concern.”
“Well, it’s dangerous.”
“So is walking in these heels.”
He got the hint and led her down all the stairs to the street. Some kid had his boom box on painful-death-bass, and some other kid was screaming up to his mother on the fifth floor, but the limo was still intact, the engine purring, waiting for them.
Moe, Dash’s driver for over five years, smiled as he opened the back door. Moe was forty-seven, with a shocking thatch of thick black hair and a mustache to match. He didn’t look it, but he was also a bodyguard. His CIA training had been supplemented by years mastering karate.
“Good evening, ma’am. Let me help you into that seat. The step is a little tricky.”
Tess thanked him while Dash went to the other door. A moment later, they were happily settled in the quiet of the car. “Get comfortable,” he said. “It’s three hours.”
“I could run up and get my bunny slippers.”
“Or I could pour you a cocktail.”
“Bunny slippers are highly overrated.”
The limo was well stocked, and after a moment of concentration, Tess decided on an apple martini. Dash got the shaker, the ice and the vodka, but he almost dumped the whole thing in his lap. Inattention. She’d leaned back, taken a deep breath, and he was all thumbs. It wasn’t like him. He disconcerted women, not the other way around. Pulling himself together, he poured her drink, fixed himself a scotch and water, then leaned back next to her. Not close enough.
She sipped, moaned with pleasure, then
